


It's Nice When You Do It

by SisterAmell



Series: The Virgin Prince [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Healing, Minor Injuries, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4064053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SisterAmell/pseuds/SisterAmell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a harrowing day reclaiming the remains of fallen comrades at the battlefield of Ostagar, an injured Alistair is treated to some nursing care by his fellow female Warden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Nice When You Do It

Alistair had remained at the foot of the pyre until the very last remnants of his King had been devoured by flame. He did not cry – no, he had shed enough tears – he simply stared into the golden blaze with weary, heavy eyes. It was already night. His companions had set up camp not far from the funeral site, with tents to keep out the cold Ostagar wind. Alistair stood alone with the remains of his brother Cailan long after the others had taken their leave. Alexandra had offered to stay and keep him company, but this once, he had wanted to be alone.

It must have been late. When he finally emerged from the dark recesses of his mind, he realised how very tired he was. He shifted in his armour and felt a bolt of pain pass through his chest. Muttering an oath, he removed one of his gauntlets, unbuckled his breastplate and reached inside to the tunic beneath. Wet. He withdrew his hand. Red.

_Great._

He limped off towards the encampment, his senses pouring back in after so long standing numb at the funeral pyre, becoming aware of new aches and pains all over. When he reached the clearing where his companions had pitched their tents, he was shaking. He stumbled to the ground beside the fire pit with a hissed curse.

“Alistair?”

Cousland emerged from her tent, her eyes full of concern. Alistair gave her a weak smile. Behind fluttering eyelids and the white hot pain of his wounds, he could see her dark hair falling over her face in tousled streaks, her slender body clothed lightly in a tunic and trousers. She came across the clearing with bare feet crackling over leaves and sticks. From the look on her face it was clear that she had not failed to notice his sorry state.

“You're hurt,” she breathed, crouching beside him. Her hands went to the buckles of his armour. “Alistair, you're bleeding.”

Despite the racking pain, he laughed. “I didn't even notice. Funny, huh?”

She was not amused. With a tight knit brow, she worked at removing his pauldrons and breastplate, proceeding carefully so as not to hurt him. Alistair let her. He was surprised to find that she smelled quite good despite the harrowing day they had spent knee-deep in Darkspawn filth. She had probably found time for a dip in the stream – a nobleman's daughter through and through, she tried to bathe regularly, even in the wild.

“Sorry about the smell,” he offered, realising that he was coated in sweat and blood and Maker-knows-what.

Alexandra freed him from his mail and leaned in to assess his injuries. He felt her hand brush his chest and pain spiked through him. He hissed in through his teeth. His companion jumped a little at the response, and then her expression filled with sympathy.

“This is from a blade,” she said gently. “One of them must have caught you between your armour. I don't think it's very deep... Can you breathe all right?”

Alistair forced a tight smile. “Yep. But I think I broke... well, something, anyway.”

“I'll wake Wynne, and she can-”

“No, no, don't do that.” He caused another stab of pain as he moved to stop her. “She'll just _mother_ me and make me drink some ghastly concoction, or chastise me for being reckless.”

“ _I'll_ mother you and chastise you for being reckless,” she pointed out, half smiling.

“Yes, but it's nice when you do it.” He cringed internally at what had just left his mouth. What a thing to say! And he had been doing _so well_ after accidentally catching her naked that time – hardly an awkward remark or blushing glance at all.

“Oh, really?”

She was smirking. He wasn't good when she smirked like that. He tended to grow flustered and fiddle with his hands and not know what to say. He tried: “Maybe?”

Alexandra moved closer, sliding one arm underneath his shoulder and easing him to stand. “Well, let's get you into your tent, then, so that I can mother you.” She grunted under his weight as he came to his feet unsteadily. “And chastise you.”

As painful as it was for Alistair to walk the few feet across the camp, he was also filled with a kind of heady euphoria at being entangled with Cousland in such a way. She was under his arm, holding him gently around his torso, and leading him to his tent. He could feel the side of her breast pressing into him.  _This is not the time, Alistair,_ he warned himself. _Keep Alistair Junior under control and focus on something else – like the horrendous day you've just had. Remember? You've just been to a funeral._

They passed through the entrance of his tent and Alexandra guided him safely down upon his bedroll. The final effort of his muscles was excruciating for him. He sank back with a shuddering groan. Clamping a hand over his ruined tunic, Alistair felt along the damp stains in an attempt to gauge the severity of his wound. It was a relief to find that he had not lost too much blood. When Cousland drew a dagger and started to strip away the fabric, he held his breath. Slowly, she rent his clothing down the middle, exposing his chest to the cool night air. Her hands peeled away the edges that were sticking to his coated flesh, carefully, almost tenderly. Alistair watched her beautiful eyes sweep over his body.

With a sigh of relief, Alexandra said: “It isn't deep. I think the bleeding has stopped.”

“Oh, good,” he squeaked.

Her gaze lifted to his and she gave him a warm smile that made him blush. “Now, you lie still. I'll fetch some clean water and bandages.”

“See, a sponge bath from Wynne just wouldn't be the same,” he joked weakly.

There was a little flutter of her lashes as the apples of her cheeks pinched coyly. When she disappeared behind the tent lip, Alistair lay staring at the space she had occupied, simmering softly in his adoration. He had forgotten about his pain and was instead losing himself in thoughts of the Lady Cousland – her melodious laugh, for which he would tell a thousand stupid jokes, her compassion for the downtrodden that moved her to assist practically anyone they encountered, her courage, the strength of a warrior and the grace of a Queen.

She returned at length with a cooking pot filled with heated water and a large pouch hung over her shoulder. Placing the pot on the ground beside Alistair, she then emptied the contents of the pouch; some dressings, tinctures, and a few sprigs of elfroot. The Prince watched her soak one of the fabric cuttings in the steaming pot. He swallowed. She really intended to bathe him.

“Lie still,” instructed Alexandra, kneeling over his shirtless body. She brought the damp cloth very carefully to the gash at his side. Alistair winced as pain bit into him, but the warmth of the cloth felt good upon the surrounding flesh. Cousland began to clean the area, gently saturating it, wiping away blood and dirt, and refreshing the fabric every time it cooled. Beyond the sting, Alistair could feel the delicate brush of the girl's fingers over his skin. Her strokes were soft, her pace unhurried. When he glanced up at her face he found a strange expression there. She was gazing at his bare torso in the glow that the camp fire cast through the canvas of the tent, her lips slightly parted, eyes shimmering with some mysterious emotion as they traced the curves of his abdomen.

When she had finished cleaning his wound, she dipped the cloth once more in the warm water and brought it to his neck. Alistair lay rigid, his heart racing, as Alexandra leaned in low and ran the soothing article down the contours of his shoulders. It felt so wonderful that he sighed deeply, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh all over. The female Warden lifted a hand to his face and stroked the sweaty hair away from where it stuck to his forehead. The wet cloth followed, smoothing over his forehead, streaking his temples, moistening his flushed cheeks. She was so close to him. He could feel the brush of her breath and the tickle of her hair dusting his skin. Alistair's gaze flitted from her inviting lips to her darkened, magical eyes. She was holding the cloth to the edge of his jaw where a Hurlock had caught him with a glancing blow. Alistair barely noticed the ache. He licked his lips nervously as Cousland combed her free hand through his hair, her lashes drifting, her face hovering closer. Feather light, her mouth whispered over his. Soft, warm lips touched him – oh, so briefly.

Beyond his roaring pulse and thoughts a-blur, Alistair heard her say: “I'm sorry... I know how difficult today was for you.”

Today? Alistair couldn't remember anything before the kiss. Alexandra was still stroking his hair, her nose resting on his as if she could not bear to pull away. Her eyes were averted, her brow was curved in sorrow. He could feel the echo of her sensual lips, the excited tingle that she had passed to him, which was now spreading throughout his body.

Shakily, with a forced laugh, he said: “Well, that... that certainly helped.”

The female Warden smiled gently. “I live to serve, Your Highness.”

“Oh, okay, now you've spoiled it. And here I am, all sad and wounded...” He feigned a pout, enacting his most heart-breaking puppy eyes. “If only there were some way to help me feel better...”

“Certainly. Off with your breeches, then.”

Alistair froze. He was  _pretty_ sure that she was joking. But she was still inches away from his face, smouldering down at him, and he seemed to have forgotten his own name. “Aha ha... Bluff called.” With a hasty cough, he turned away and felt his ribs twinge in protest. “Damn.”

Cousland laughed. “You're adorable when you blush,” she said softly, touching the back of her fingers to his burning cheek. She tilted him back to face her.

Alistair could barely bring himself to meet her gaze. This was new territory – scary territory – for him. The closeness, the care, the stroking, the flirting, the compliments (if “adorable” to a man could be considered a compliment, which he hadn't decided). He was keenly aware that he was still shirtless and vulnerable, and that Alexandra's fingernails were raking sensually through his hair. He wondered briefly how he could possibly be blushing if there was no more blood in the upper half of his body.

The woman brought her lips towards his and parted them in offer. She did not cross the breath of the distance remaining, but instead waited for Alistair to choose the next step. He thought he must be dreaming. Nervously, he licked his lips. Then, fearing the moisture would be off-putting, he pursed them together hurriedly to dry them. With his heart beating rapidly, he kissed her. Her mouth stirred against him, pressing in deeply, dragging at his lips. Heat engulfed him, from the tip of his nose all the way down to his curling toes. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils at the intoxicating sensations, mirroring her motions as he attempted to focus on technique and ignore the rising urge to moan loudly. Alexandra's head tilted, lowered, lips pushing at him, hands caressing his neck and jaw. A slight brush of her tongue sent Alistair reeling.

The kiss lasted a lifetime and was over too soon. When they finally broke the heated bond of their lips, Alistair's mouth hung open for several seconds, feeling utterly scorched. He blinked and opened his eyes.

“I _much_ prefer your chastisement to Wynne's...” he rasped.

Alexandra smiled, turning her face in a surprising display of bashfulness. She located the medicinal items on the floor of the tent and busied herself with making a poultice. Despite her rosy glow and shy expression, Alistair wasn't sure how she felt about the kiss they had just shared. He began to grow nervous – well,  _more_ nervous – as she worked in silence beside him.

He cleared his throat. “Was... that okay?” came his uncertain voice, sounding weak. “That was my first kiss, so I don't know if, um...”

She laughed softly, causing Alistair to flush with embarrassment. “You're a natural.”

“Oh. I am? That's too bad... I guess I won't be needing any more practice.”

Lying flat on his back, stripped to the waist, there was no way of disguising the strain of his arousal. At just a kiss, he had fully hardened. He caught Alexandra's eyes darting to the area and back at the medicine preparation, the coy smile never leaving her face. Alistair felt a heady mix of self-consciousness and pride at her reactions. He was in something of a daze when the Warden brought the fresh poultice to his chest and started applying it to his wounds. A lance of sharp pain brought him back to reality.

“Sorry,” Cousland murmured at the flinch she elicited. She had not yet returned to meet his gaze since the kiss. Her voice was quiet, timid. “I'm almost done. Then I'll get out of your hair and you can rest.”

“You don't have to go,” Alistair blurted without thinking. He cringed inwardly, but ploughed ahead despite his embarrassment. “You could stay – I mean, if you wanted to. There's room for both of us.”

Alexandra sighed, an indecipherable expression claiming her beautiful features. Why wouldn't she look at him? She seemed anxious to finish up, her pace increasing, the strokes of her salve-coated fingertips growing less careful. Alistair began to worry. In the tight silence during the final moments of his medical care, he was overcome with a thousand ideas of what he'd done wrong. He held his breath as Alexandra slipped a bandage underneath his back and secured it around his torso. It was not until she withdrew her hands from him that she finally spoke.

“I can't...”

Leaving the healing supplies where they lay, she bowed her head and disappeared into the night.

 


End file.
